Moments in the Dark Castle
by WittyWallflower
Summary: Drabbles set during Belle's time with the Dark One


One day Belle's gown ripped. She was out filling buckets from the well when it caught on the ivy that choked the kitchen courtyard. The first time she saw the yard she sent up a silent prayer that she would not be expected to tend the landscaping after she had cleaned the castle. For now she was too busy to worry about it.

Brushing a curl damp with sweat back from her forehead, she grasped the pails she had filled from the well and set off back to the castle at a brisk pace. Distracted by the heavy burden, she didn't notice the tangle of branches that had snagged the fabric until they pulled the gold cloth taut and tangled it about her legs. Unbalanced, she fell in an graceless heap, the water in pails splashing everywhere and mostly upon herself. Her knees and elbows banged painfully against the cobblestones.

A great deep sigh of frustration blew through her lips, fluttering the riotous dark hair that had tumbled into her face once more. She tied it back at least three times a day, but silk ribbons did little to bind silky curls in place and she spent half the day with her vision obstructed by it. Angry now, she shoved it back and tried to sit up but found herself hopelessly twisted up in her skirts. She tried to free herself from the branches only to find they had torn a great rent in the yellow silk and poked through even her petticoats. Turning over to inspect the damage had only made it worse, now the silk was twisted tightly around the branch, impaled upon its thorns.

She carried no dagger or scissors and for moment wondered how she was to free herself. Pulling at the ivy would only prick and bloody her fingers. Belle sat, considering the conundrum, her skirts rucked up past her knees and her bottom in a puddle of well water. Well, there was no help for it. Reaching beneath her skirts, she unwound the ribbon securing her petticoats and shimmied out of them, careful to keep the yellow over-skirt demurely covering what they could of her legs. When she was free she slipped into the castle's kitchens and located a pair of shears. A few scrapes against the whetstone later she decided it was sharp enough to get the job done and marched back into the yard to free the rest of her raiment.

.x.x.x.

Where was that girl? The Dark One wondered to himself. He had sent her to prepare his bath, a task that shouldn't take long on the great roaring fire she insisted must be kept lit in the kitchens. "Nothing is ever truly clean that wasn't scrubbed in scalding water." she had said. And what would a lordling's daughter know of such things? At the time he wondered if she had ever so much as washed her own hair unassisted. But Belle had been a pleasant surprise. She worked diligently and with more competence than expected. Not that it was exactly difficult to scrub a floor.

Then he heard her footsteps on the stair, slow and careful. The senses heightened by dark magic could just barely detect the slosh of water as well. The sounds grew closer until, with a quiet shuffle, one gold-slippered foot toed the door open and she entered. When Rumplestiltskin turned to direct her to the stone tub, he couldn't miss the difference in her appearance.

The golden gown was chopped short, revealing her creamy legs beneath. No longer weighed down by their own length, the skirts belled gracefully about her hips with each step she took across the floor. Her face was set and she steadily avoided meeting his gaze, but his eyes were not on her face to notice. As she bent to empty a pail into the lavish tub, Rumple told himself it was the steam rising to fill the room that accounted for the heat he suddenly felt and not the view of her legs, pale as milk, slender and graceful. His eyes rose from her feet in their dainty slippers to her delicate ankles, to the calves that flexed with each shift of her balance. When Belle reached down for the other pail, her petticoats rode higher up her thigh and Rumplestiltskin forced his eyes from her bare legs.

He forced himself to focus on the altered garment. She had trimmed it cleverly but he could see where she had cut around great rents in the petticoats beneath. He noticed the faint smudges on the back of her skirt; every chair in the castle except his own was cloaked in dust the day she arrived. Now that the dirty, stained hem was gone from the dress, his eye saw too the dark spots on the bodice of the gown around the underarms. With nothing else to wear, Belle had no opportunity to wash the garment and by now the dress was beyond help. At first it had amused Rumplestiltskin to keep her dirty and shabbily dressed, this lordling's daughter with her fine silks and jewels, spoiled by a lifetime of servants to tend her every need. He made wagers with himself on whether she'd be brave enough ask for better treatment, or be unwise enough to demand it.

He knew the dress drove Belle mad during her duties. Scrubbing the floor, her dress would become trapped beneath her, forcing her rearrange it entirely every time she reached for a new tile. Her repeated sighs of frustration and grunts of effort as she tugged the skirts from beneath her knees had chased him from the chamber. He'd almost stripped her bare then just so he could spin in peace and now he was not surprised when she entered the room sans her dress from the knee down. Belle had never said a word about it though; somehow he suspected it wasn't fear that held her back. Could it be that she had expected nothing better from life as a servant in the Dark Castle? Whatever she expected, she had struck the deal. Still, he was weary with her tatters; the game was no longer worthwhile as she seemed unlikely to give any amusing reaction to the hardship.

"Tut-tut, dearie." he said. "This won't do." When she looked at him inquiringly he gestured to her outfit and she stiffened at the look of mirthful disdain on his face. "I've a certain reputation to maintain after all. If my servants look shabby, others might think I've fallen on hard times. A very important part of striking a deal is leading the other person to believe that you have the stronger position."

As he spoke Rumplestiltskin circled Belle, looking her up and down. She could feel his eyes pick out every flaw in her appearance; the mangled dress, the untidy hair, the dirt of the cobblestones all over her person. Her hands clenched tightly into fists. So this is how servants feel when they are treated like possessions instead of people, she thought. While insisting to her father and fiance that no one would choose her fate but her own self, Belle had chosen a fate where another person was master over her. There was a certain bitter irony to it now, but she could not have done otherwise. Belle had saved her people, and dressing in a servant's rags would be a small price to pay for their lives.

When Rumplestiltskin completed his perusal and reappeared before her, he noticed something new. With a frown, he bent forward for a better look. Shadowed by shortened skirt and petticoat, the scrapes on her knee had been indistinguishable from the dirt smeared on them. Her movements up the stairs had opened one of the cuts, however, and a tiny trickle of blood was inching down her leg. Belle jumped back when he reached for her leg.

"Hold still, girl!" he barked.

She forced herself to step up to him once more and tried not to cringe from his touch. But he never put his hand on her. Instead she felt a faint tingling at the wave of his hand a second before he spun away, striding over the bath as he unbuttoned his waistcoat. When Belle glanced down she saw two pale kneecaps poking out beneath her skirt. The scrapes had been completely healed and the grime cleared away, not even the faintest trace of blood remained.

"You've spent enough time in these rags." he said, before she could thank him.

With another wave of his hand, the material of her dress rippled, grew longer, lightened in color. A second later she stood there in a gown as pristine as the first day she had tried it on, back in her father's home with the village dressmakers attending her. The hem, no longer stained and torn, hung to the floor once again and the dark spots of dirt and sweat were gone. The silk gleamed in the light.

The Dark One shucked his vest and began to unbutton his cuffs. Meanwhile Belle stood unmoving in the once again glorious gown.

"Tub's full, dearie. Unless you were planning to stay and scrub my back, I'd say your work here is done." He giggled at her but she only stared back at him. He could see her jaw working though. So she did have something to say after all, he sneered. "Well?"

Belle's eyes narrowed and she reminded herself to keep her temper. Not only her life but her entire kingdom was at his mercy if he decided he was displeased. She would have to be careful, he was a volatile man. No, not a man... a beast. She took a few breaths before she responded.

"I cannot clean the castle in this gown."

"Oh? And what have you been doing here this past week? Catching up on your reading?" Rumple giggled at his own witticism as he dropped into a chair and began to remove his boots.

"I can't clean the castle in this gown." she repeated, face set as stone. "If I shorten it again, will you simply fix it each time?"

"But of course. As I said, I can't have you looking like a beggar, reflects poorly on me you know."

Belle considered her words a moment. "I am your servant, correct? This is inappropriate raiment for a servant. Even if I could clean properly in this blasted gown, how would it look? Anyone who came to the castle might see me in this beautiful gown and mistake me for your... err..."

"For what, dearie? My mistress? My paramour? My True Love?" He noticed Belle's discomfort at the idea and giggled manically at it. She blushed. "Worry not, everyone knows the Dark One loves nothing, just as he fears nothing. Still, you may have a point." Love was a weakness and he couldn't allow even the appearance of weakness before anyone, friend or foe. Not that he had much by way of friends.

Leaning back in the chair he pointed at her and with the gesture his magic vanished the formal silk gown with its full skirts and delicate embroidery across the bosom. In its place was a thin linen blouse topped by a blue gown trimmed in brown, laced up the front of the bodice. Instead of the voluminous petticoats she wore lace-trimmed pantalets and the circumference of the blue over-skirt was far smaller on this dress. On a whole it was easier to move about it and much more practical for the task; the material was sturdier and not so easy to stain or tear. The hem was several inches shorter so she wouldn't have to hold it up as she climbed the stairs. Instead of thin slippers, her shoes how had a sturdy heel and no cold seeped through from the stone floors of the Dark Castle.

Belle swayed slightly to feel the skirts swing against her legs. Sturdy, but light enough. Yes, this was just the thing, she thought, then realized she was smiling. She supposed to must be a womanly instinct in reaction to any new dress because she'd had far finer garments in her life, given with more affection and for pleasanter purposes. Still, it felt like she had won a small triumph; already her life with the Dark One was less unpleasant than it had begun. Without either realizing it, Belle had managed to extract a favor from the Dark One without striking any bargain or paying any price in return. Belle crossed to the covered mirror in the corner but when her fingers lifted the cloth draped over it, intent on a peep at herself, Rumplestiltskin halted her.

"Nuh-nuh, dearie!" he said, shaking warning finger at her. Dark magic yanked the cloth from her hands and spread it over the mirror once more with a smart snap, like sail pulled taught by a gust of wind. "You wanted a dress to clean the castle in, not a dress for whirling about in front of the looking glass. Back to your work!"

With that Rumplestiltskin turned his back on her, past ready for his bath. As he tugged his shirt free of his pants and pulled it off over his head, Belle grabbed the empty water pails and beat a hasty retreat. He was giggling at her embarrassed haste as he unlaced his leather pants but when he peeled them off and dabbled a finger in the bathwater, he found it cold. He wasn't about to dress again to summon the girl with more hot water. He wanted to bathe sometime this fortnight. Sourly, he passed his hand over the tub until a pleasant steam rose from it once again.


End file.
